A Letter in the Dusty Bag

Today while cleaning the dark and dusty corners of our kitchen cabinets, I found a plastic bag full of things from my youth. Some of the schoolwork had the year 2003. Among the old drawings of Molly and Marcus and Tara I found a letter. My own name caught my eye, and a few moments later my breath became shallow. This was a letter from my birth mom to my parents.
     A few things I discovered in this letter: Max is my next blood brother at 18 years old. My mom had romantic troubles as well. She had me with some boyfriend, was divorced with 3 week old Max by an irresponsible father, and finally came through with a temple marriage. "I'm done screwing up, I promise," she said to my parents. How many times have I said that in my own life?
     She talked about not having enough time to snowboard. She talked about her marathon goals and how she runs 3 miles in the mornings. She apologized for not writing more frequently. The paper was informative and spiritual. She goes to church every Sunday, juggling all of the "to dos".
     This feeling that she is like me is strange. How much does her personality affect my decisions? If I get to know her well, will I learn things about myself? Maybe with the mistakes she's made, she can help me see my own path a little clearer.
    An illegible signature left me guessing:
     I still don't know her name.